


The Downtime Job

by eringiles



Category: Leverage
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e09 The Rundown Job, Gen, Hurt Eliot Spencer, Hurt/Comfort, OT3, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24522025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eringiles/pseuds/eringiles
Summary: After Eliot is shot at the end of The Rundown Job, he, Parker and Hardison hole up in an apartment to give Eliot time to recover from his injuries.Eliot’s usually happy to grump and gripe that they don’t have enough downtime while he’s cradling bruised ribs or pressing a bag of ice to his aching head, but when he’s really hurtin’ he just wants to hibernate for a couple of days. And that’s all he wants right now. Normally he’d do it alone in the safe confines of his apartment, but he’ll take what he’s given in the present circumstances, hoping they eventually get the hint when he slams the door to his bedroom in their face enough times.Parker and Hardison don't take hints.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 161





	The Downtime Job

Eliot wakes up shivering. He doesn’t even think it’s that cold in the apartment they’re staying in, but never-the-less, he feels like he’s on the side of a mountain in sub-artic conditions. He only meant to lie down for half an hour to give enough time for the painkillers he found at the bottom of the first aid kit to kick in. He tries to pull the sheets up higher and tucks his bare arms underneath, hugging himself, before he realises that pulls at the wound in his shoulder. He knows he should get up and put on a shirt and drink some water to replace the blood he’s lost but he feels wrung out now the adrenalin has worn off.

His phone pings from somewhere on the pillow beside him and he lifts it up to peer first at the time – 5.06pm – and secondly to see that he has a message from Nate asking him when they expect to be back from DC. Eliot’s hands are shaking so much that he knows texting is beyond him right now so he hits the dial button.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey, Nate. We’re going to spend a couple of days longer in DC.’ Eliot’s no idiot, he knows he needs a couple of days before flying is a good idea. He can’t shake off getting shot twice like he can a concussion or bruised ribs.

‘Everything alright?’

Eliot takes a moment to consider telling Nate what’s gone down, but he’s still exhausted and he can’t be bothered to get into it right now.

‘Yeah, s’fine. Just found another job while we were over here.’

‘Okay, no problem. Take care of yourselves and Sophie and I will see you in a few days.’

He eventually manages to drag himself into sitting on the side of the bed, noticing someone has left a glass of water on the bedside table for him. Now he’s upright, he feels slightly dizzy. He reaches a shaking hand out for the glass and doesn’t attempt moving again until he’s drunk the whole thing.

He feels headachy and vaguely nauseous but he wonders how much of that is blood loss and how much is hunger or exhaustion. He decides he’ll rustle up some food for the three of them before he plans to return to bed. He eyes his ruined shirt that is still in a bloody pile next to his jeans on the floor, wishing he’d sent out Parker or Hardison to get him some clothes or he’d at least packed a hoodie.

He pulls out the only other two pieces of clothing he brought with him on the trip. A t-shirt he threads his injured arm through first so he doesn’t have to raise it, putting him at risk of pulling the stitches out he and Parker so carefully put in less than a couple of hours ago; and a beanie hat which he jams on his head with some difficulty in the hope he stops anymore of the heat leaching out of him.

His clammy feet stick to the laminate flooring as he hobbles towards the door of his room that he only now notices isn’t closed. As he passes the room Parker and Hardison snagged, he notices they’ve left the door ajar too, clearly so they can keep an ear out for him. He sighs, annoyed that they think they have to keep an eye on him, but there’s a small part of him that’s touched, too. He can hear the shower in the bathroom running as he passes that door and he briefly wonders if Parker and Hardison are in there together.

He limps into the rest of the apartment, using walls and furniture to get himself there and grabs Hardison’s hoodie from the back of the sofa, taking an age to pull it on and zip it up. By the time he’s made it to the fridge he needs to sit down again, and annoyingly he can hear footsteps coming down the corridor towards him. He pulls the fridge door open and tries to hide his shaking hands by gripping the fridge handle tightly and burying the other one in the pocket of Hardison’s hoodie. He sticks his head in the fridge under the pretence of looking for something to eat, when really the only thing that’s in there is a surprising number of bottles of orange soda considering they were originally planning on flying back to Oregon today.

He sees Parker out of the corner of his eye as she comes into the kitchen.

‘Hey, you’re up.’ Eliot’s grateful that she doesn’t punch him or poke him for once. He’s not sure he can handle it right now. ‘I text Sophie to tell her we’d be staying for a couple of extra days, ‘cause when I stuck my head in your room you seemed like you’d be out for a while. Thought we could have a couple of days off out here.’

There was a time when Parker wouldn’t have considered Eliot or his feelings, or even contemplated that he was anything other than fine. Now she was not only perceptive, but Eliot could detect a hint of concern in her voice for his wellbeing.

‘I just spoke to Nate as well. Said the same thing,’ Eliot tells Hardison’s bottles of orange soda. He’s usually happy to grump and gripe that they don’t have enough downtime while he’s cradling bruised ribs or pressing a bag of ice to his aching head, but when he’s really hurtin’ he just wants to hibernate for a couple of days. And that’s all he wants right now. Normally he’d do it alone in the safe confines of his apartment, but he’ll take what he’s given in the present circumstances, hoping they eventually get the hint when he slams the door to his bedroom in their face enough times.

‘Eliot, you okay? You’re shaking.’ He feels Parker’s hand on his shoulder. He wants to brush her off, tell her to mind her own business, tell her he’s fine, dammit. But he ain’t fine. There’re very few people he’ll admit it to, but Parker is one of them.

‘Can’t get warm.’ He admits, finally shutting the fridge door. He leans against the counter, favouring his right leg.

He watches Parker as she reaches for a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water from the tap, shoving it at him, causing him to use both hands to make a grab for it, before she disappears out of the room. He downs the water in one as he hears the water shut off in the shower and the door to the bathroom go a moment later. He can hear the banging of wardrobe doors, followed by Hardison’s indignant cry of _Woman!_

Eliot goes back to contemplating food but they’ll either need to order takeout or someone will need to go out and buy food so Eliot can cook it. If he’s honest with himself, though, he’s not sure he’s got the energy to be cooking anything right now. In fact, he’s not got the energy to be standing any longer. He shuffles away from the counter and braces himself to make the stagger towards the couch in the apartment.

He can hear Parker coming back down the corridor, but Eliot is intent on his task of getting himself into a seated position. He lowers himself onto the l-shaped sofa carefully, even with Parker watching him like a hawk, trying to scoot himself back into the corner and lifting his left leg up so it’s stretched out in front of him. A second later, a pile of blankets lands on him in a muddled heap.

‘Parker.’ He says it like a curse through gritted teeth as he tries to claw his way out of the mess of blankets, but Parker, as usual, ignores his grouching.

She perches on the arm of the sofa at the other end from him, feet up on the cushions. ‘Hardison and I were going to go out and get some food. You need us to pick anything up?’

Eliot considers this as he gives up on trying to rescue himself from the blankets and instead shoves his hands into their confines. ‘You get me some clothes that ain’t covered in blood?’

‘Sure.’ She nods. ‘Some non-bloody-Eliot-sized-clothes coming up. Anything else?’

He shifts on the sofa, trying to get comfy, but everything hurts. ‘More painkillers. Probably going to need some more gauze too.’

‘Already on my list.’ She smiles at him. Not one of her manic grins, but one of those soft smiles that she normally reserves for when Hardison is being ridiculous, that says she doesn’t quite know why she puts up with him. But this time it’s directed at Eliot.

‘Hey, anyone seen my hoodie?’ Hardison calls as he comes down the hallway.

‘Eliot’s wearing it.’ Parker says as she pulls herself from the arm of the couch.

Eliot reaches to unzip it to return the item, but Hardison waves him away.

‘Nah, man, it’s fine. Keep it ‘til we get back.’

Eliot’s grateful, because he’s still shivering despite the pile of blankets he’s now hidden under.

‘Hey, man, you be alright ‘til we get back?’ Hardison asks. Eliot just glares in response, but apparently he’s not done it right, because Hardison doesn’t even look worried. ‘You need anything?’

‘Already asked him, and got a list.’ Parker says, opening the door of the apartment.

Hardison grabs the remote from the coffee table and drops it onto Eliot’s lap. ‘There’s a Doogie Howser marathon on.’

Eliot blinks slowly, his eyelids feeling heavy as he listens to Hardison locking the door.

‘Eliot looks sort of peaceful when he sleeps.’ Parker comments as Eliot feels the sofa cushions dip next to him.

‘Eliot ain’t sleeping.’ He says but doesn’t open his eyes. His head is resting against the back of the sofa. He may not have been sleeping when Parker commented, but he definitely doesn’t think he’s been conscious for the whole of the time Parker and Hardison have been at the store. The remote control Hardison dropped in his lap hasn’t moved an inch.

Parker pokes him in the arm, but when he opens his eyes to growl at her she’s holding out a bottle of Gatorade for him which she uncaps. He drinks from the bottle as Parker continues to sit next to him, a bag in her lap which she starts rooting around in.

‘Got you some clothes as well.’ She pulls out a long sleeve shirt, a plaid button down, a hoodie, a pair of jeans – which she doesn’t give him – and a pair of sweats, which she does.

‘Thanks,’ he grunts. He doesn’t want to suffer the indignation of Parker getting him dressed, but if anything, he’s got even less energy than when they left the apartment, despite not moving an inch. He lets the sweatpants sit in his lap, just staring at them, contemplating whether he can get away with putting them on while still sat on the sofa.

‘How you feeling?’ The question blindsides him a bit. They don’t normally ask him if he’s alright, or how he’s feeling, it’s just a given that he’s fine. He’s Eliot. So, he can’t be held accountable if it takes him slightly longer than normal to answer what suddenly seems like a complicated question that he’s expected to answer with more than the word ‘fine’.

‘I’ll be fine, Parker,’ he says eventually, because he doesn’t actually know how to answer that question with anything other than the word fine.

‘I know you’ll be fine. You’re Eliot. Not what I asked, though.’

Eliot opens his mouth, but he’s still not sure how to answer the question. It feels loaded somehow, like if he doesn’t give the right answer he’ll upset them. He goes for the truth.

‘Hurtin’.’

This seems to have been the right response, because Parker nods before pulling a pack of ibuprofen from the bag in her lap and handing it to Eliot. He nods his thanks and pops two, even though he knows he’s supposed to take them with food. 

‘Dinner is served,’ Hardison says, with a flourish, placing a plate in Eliot’s lap that has a large steak cooked rare with a side of spinach and some chips. It looks good, which makes Eliot suspicious.

‘You cook this?’ Eliot asks in surprise, realising as soon as he’s said it that he’s not heard any sounds of cooking and they’ve not been back in the apartment long enough for Hardison to cook.

‘Nah, man. You’re a good teacher, but you ain’t that good. Got it from the restaurant down the road. Thought you could use the iron.’ Hardison disappears back towards the kitchen and returns a moment later. ‘And for m’lady,’ he says, dropping two large pizza boxes onto the coffee table. Parker smiles, jumping up with the armful of Eliot’s clothes, disappearing down the hall before returning a moment later, climbing over the back of the couch to sit herself down beside Eliot. She tears into the pizza with gusto, already halfway through her first slice before Eliot has even picked up his knife and fork.

Hardison sits down next to Parker with a large bottle of orange soda and grabs the remote. ‘Wanna watch a film?’

‘Do what you want, man.’ Eliot says, picking up his knife and fork with some effort. He feels touched that Hardison and Parker had enough thought to buy him food that would help replace the blood that he’s lost rather than letting him chow down on carbs.

He vaguely listens to Parker and Hardison trying to agree on something to watch while he starts eating. He’s not overly hungry, but he knows he needs to eat, and it helps that the steak smells so good. He wants to grouse and groan as he hears the opening notes of the Star Wars theme, but he couldn’t give a damn right now.

When he’s done eating he strains to reach the coffee table with his empty plate.

‘Thanks, man.’ He mumbles as Hardison grabs the plate from his outstretched hand, and he hopes Hardison realises that he’s saying thank you for more than him grabbing the plate. He leans his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes and letting the sound of an icy tundra and weird animal noises wash over him.

He wakes sometime later to find Parker is using him as a pillow, or he’s using her as one. He’s not quite sure which way round it is, but somehow Parker’s head is resting on his left shoulder with his head resting on top of hers.

Parker has managed to get under one of the blankets that she dumped on him. He can feel her socked feet against his left ankle where she has her feet up on the chaise lounge bit of the sofa. Hardison seems to have managed to get under a blanket too and has his feet up on the coffee table, arms stretched out along the back of the sofa.

There would have been a time he would be embarrassed to find himself in his current predicament, but instead all he does is shift slightly on the sofa, trying to bite back a groan as he’s reminded that every inch of him aches.

‘You wanna go lie down, man?’

Eliot doesn’t want to leave the sofa, he realises. Not because the thought of moving makes his injuries pulse in anticipation of how much it’s going to hurt, especially now the painkillers have worn off. Again. For some unfathomable reason he doesn’t want to leave Hardison and Parker.

He would say that because he’s closer he can protect them, but that’s a down right lie. They’re doing more protecting than he is right now. He realises that he doesn’t want to be alone with his aches and pains. The weight of Parker on his shoulder and the close proximity of Hardison’s arm behind his shoulders makes him feel safe. That realisation makes the words catch in his throat and he has to try and swallow down the emotions that are slowly bubbling their way to the surface.

‘Eliot?’ He feels Parker’s warm breath against his neck as she turns to try and see him without lifting her head from his shoulder.

He wants to blame the pain and exhaustion on the sudden rush of heat to his face. If he could get away with blaming the movie he would, but he can’t – he doesn’t even know what they’re watching anymore. He shakes his head, because he doesn’t trust himself to use his voice, staring resolutely ahead at the television, but the screen is blurring as he tries to put his emotions back in the box where they live.

He feels Parker’s smaller hand finding his underneath the blankets and squeezing as her head moves back to its previous position on his shoulder. He feels Hardison’s hand behind his shoulders shifting to squeeze at the back of his neck and he’s grateful that they don’t say anything else until he’s got himself under control again.

He dozes for a while, until the end of the second film Hardison and Parker have been watching – he’s not paying attention at all, everything is just washing over him in a blur.

When Parker comes back from the bathroom, Eliot struggles to pull himself from the couch, intent on getting to the bathroom under his own steam. He drags the sweatpants Parker gave him hours ago with him, resolved on wearing something more substantial than his boxers, Hardison’s hoodie and a blanket.

He can feel Hardison and Parker’s eyes following him out the room. He shuts the bathroom door behind him but doesn’t lock it. When he’s done, he scrutinizes himself in the bathroom mirror. He’s pale – which doesn’t surprise him – and he looks exhausted. He pulls the collar of his t-shirt down to check his bandages and finds he’s bled through the one on his shoulder. He sighs and limps back to the bathroom door, opening it.

‘Parker.’

He’s hardly turned away from the open bathroom door before she’s there, Hardison immediately behind her. They both have matching looks of concern that makes Eliot feel bad. If he’d been any less tired and sore he would have modified his tone, but he’s only got enough energy to struggle out of Hardison’s hoodie and his t-shirt right now.

‘Need your help to change the bandages on my shoulder.’ By which he means he needs her to do it, because even if he did bend that way, he hasn’t got the ability to do it right now.

He sits on the toilet seat as Parker re-dresses his shoulder with fresh bandages. Hardison has retreated to the rest of the apartment with some excuse.

‘Sometimes I forget that you can die.’

Eliot huffs out a laugh at that. ‘Cheery, Parker.’

She frowns. ‘I don’t like being reminded.’ 

He doesn’t know what to say to that for a moment so he just watches her as she tapes down the dressing to the front of his shoulder, not meeting his eye.

‘I meant what I said today. I weren’t scared, ‘cause I had with me the smartest man I know, and the best thief. And if I die protecting the two of you, then-‘ he pauses, waits until she’s looking at him. ‘I’m okay with that.’

‘But I don’t want you to die protecting us, Eliot.’

He can see she’s angry, but he doesn’t know if she’s mad at him for putting himself between bullets and them, or if she’s just mad about what almost happened today, or she’s just angry about the unfairness of people dying. The blood loss and painkillers are making his head fuzzy, which annoys him, ‘cause normally he can figure Parker out.

‘I don’t want you to die.’

It comes out quieter the second time as she moves behind him under the pretence of replacing the dressing on the exit wound in his shoulder, and he realises that Parker is literally telling him why she’s mad. She’s mad because Eliot almost died. Because he didn’t protect himself as well as them.

‘I ain’t dying anytime soon if I can help it, Parker.’ He says softly, trying to catch her eye in the bathroom mirror. It’s the best apology he can give her. There was no scenario that didn’t involve someone getting shot, and Eliot’s glad it was him and not them. It takes her a moment, but she eventually looks at his reflection.

‘Good.’ She says it firmly, like that’s the end of the conversation and he’s made a promise that he can’t go back on. He feels like he probably has, and he knows that when it’s his time he’s going to have to put up with Parker yelling at him that he promised, which makes his heart hurt just thinking about so he tries not to.

He goes to bed after she’s done, partly because the bedroom is closer, and partly because if he sleeps sitting up any longer he’s going to ache more than he already does. He leaves the painkillers within easy reach, and he’s grateful when Parker comes in with an armful of the blankets which she dumps on top of him again. He doesn’t even grouse.

He wakes to light coming through the gap in the curtains and the sound of hushed voices beyond the door of his room. He turns his lazy gaze towards the door to find that the door is open – again. This time he knows he shut it when he went to bed.

It takes him a moment to realise he feels worse than he did yesterday. He touches fingers to his shoulder and even through the bandages it feels overly warm. Shit.

He’s annoyed he didn’t remember to ask Parker to grab him some antibiotics when they went out yesterday on a supply run. He thinks he should probably cut himself some slack considering how much blood he lost, but he’s tired, and irritable and in pain.

He finds Parker in the kitchen, dressed in an oversized t-shirt that Eliot assumes belongs to Hardison, a spatula in one hand.

‘Hey, you’re up. Pancakes?’

His stomach turns at the thought so he shakes his head in response rather than give a verbal answer. It makes him feel light headed and he grips the counter top tighter.

‘Eliot, you okay?’

Parker feels too close and too far away all at once as he struggles to order his thoughts enough to get him to a chair or the couch.

‘Eliot, man, you alright?’

He feels Hardison’s arm go around his waist and he gets a strong whiff of pancake batter. He sags slightly into the side of Hardison, trying to keep himself upright with a hand on Hardison’s shoulder.

‘Need you to get me antibiotics.’

There’s a pause where Eliot catches Hardison and Parker exchanging concerned glances before Hardison speaks. ‘Right after we get your ass back in a bed.’

Eliot would normally argue, try to push away and make his way to the bedroom under his own steam, but he’s all out at the moment. He lets himself be half lead, half carried back into the bedroom.

‘Man, you are burning up,’ Hardison comments, lowering Eliot back onto the side of the bed. He doesn’t move very far away once he’s let go, a hand lingering on Eliot’s bicep.

‘Cephalexin,’ Eliot grunts out, trying to resist the urge to lower himself back onto the mattress so he’s horizontal again. He realises he feels incredibly thirsty too, so he reaches out an uncoordinated hand towards the glass of water on the bedside table. Hardison beats him to it, handing it to him and waiting until he has a firm grip before he lets go.

‘Yeah, man. No worries. You think your wound got infected?’

Eliot grips it the glass tightly, annoyed at himself as he takes larges gulps so that he doesn’t spill it. ‘Bullet wounds tend to, should have asked you to pick some up yesterday.’

‘We should have thought while we were getting you painkillers.’ Hardison sounds apologetic.

‘Don’t matter. It’s done now. Just need to keep it clean. Take some antibiotics. May spike a fever.’ He says apologetically, because he’s worried what he might say or do under the delirium of fever.

‘Don’t worry, man. We got it.’ And Eliot realises Hardison doesn’t just mean the antibiotics. He means cleaning the wound. He means keeping Eliot’s fever down. He means looking after Eliot.

It doesn’t blindside Eliot. He knows Hardison and Parker care about him, he’s never doubted it, but it still catches him unawares sometimes that he ain’t alone in the world. That he doesn’t have to do everything himself. That they’ve got his back as much as he’s got theirs.

‘Thanks.’ That one word seems to take the last of Eliot’s strength and he manages to pull his legs up onto the bed and tries to half prop himself up against the headboard. Hardison watches him for a moment, and once Eliot is settled he realises Parker is also watching him from the bedroom door. She’s managed to get dressed and is looking inquiringly at them both.

‘Cephalexin.’ Hardison says.

‘On it.’ Eliot hears Parker reply as he closes his eyes. He hears doors going, a tap running and then a hand upon his shoulder. When he opens his eyes, Hardison is holding out another glass of water for him. When Eliot has a hold of it, Hardison grabs the painkillers and tips a couple into Eliot’s hand. There’s no argument as Eliot throws them back and tries not to gulp down the water. When he’s done he hands the glass back to Hardison and closes his eyes again.

He can hear what sounds like a chopper. Can see blades swirling above his eyes that are barely open. The downdraft is pleasant rather than battering, but he keeps his eyes at half-mast to stop dirt getting in them.

Someone’s asking him a question. Has he been captured? He gives the default answer.

Name. Rank. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He can feel liquid rolling down the side of his face. He thinks it might be blood but it feels cool. Soothing. Something soft wipes the liquid from his face and he turns towards the person asking questions.

He wonders if he’s in Myanmar because it’s hot and sticky and he thinks he can hear rain. 

He tries to move his arms, to see if he’s been bound by his captors, but something pulls in his shoulder sending sparks of pain radiating out, and the questions turn to reassurances.

He knows the voice, but before he can pinpoint where he knows it from, his eyes have already closed of their own accord and the sound of rain fades.

‘’Cause Eliot damn Spencer don’t need no hospital.’

Eliot feels something lifted from his forehead and the resulting breeze as water evaporates from his too warm skin feels blissful. ‘Don’t do that again, man. You scared the shit out of me.’

He thinks for a moment that they’re on a job, and Hardison is sniping about something as usual. As he blinks the sleep from his eyes and finds himself staring at a vaguely familiar ceiling fan, somewhat obscured by an angry Hardison, it all floods back to him.

‘You with me?’

‘Yeah.’ His voice comes out weak and he turns his head to the side to see if there’s any water on the bedside table.

‘Here,’ Hardison says, helping to pull him into a sitting position with a hand behind his back, which only confirms how brittle Eliot feels. He hands Eliot the glass of water and dispenses some tablets that Eliot assumes are both antibiotics and painkillers.

‘How long was I out of it?’

‘You’ve mostly been asleep for the last day or so. Scared the hell out of us in the early hours of the morning when you thought you were somewhere else entirely.’ Hardison doesn’t elaborate, and Eliot’s glad. He only remembers snatches of things. He worries about what he said or did while he was out of it.

‘Don’t worry, you mostly rambled about nonsense and there was no throwing of fists.’

He’s grateful for the reassurance from Hardison but he feels ashamed, warm and sweaty, so he tries to throw the covers off to get away, which is hard with Hardison sat on the edge of the bed.

‘Need to shower.’

Hardison gets up from the bed and starts trying to help, grabbing at Eliot’s legs to help swing them over the side of the bed, which just makes Eliot feel even more weak and helpless that he already does.

‘Hardison, dammit, I don’t need help.’

‘Dammit, Eliot!’

Eliot stops where he is trying to untangle himself from the sheets on the bed and looks up at Hardison, because he’s never heard that tone of voice from him before.

‘Stop it, alright. Just stop it, man.’ Hardison takes a couple of breaths, a damp cloth still held tightly in his hand as he looks fiercely at Eliot. ‘You take care of us, that’s who you are, man. But let us take care of you for once.’

Eliot opens his mouth, because he wants to argue, but Hardison jumps in before he can. ‘I get it, you’re fiercely independent and don’t need no one to take care of you, because you’re Eliot freaking Spencer, but we need to, alright? So, let us for once.’

Hardison doesn’t let his gaze waver from Eliot’s, waiting for Eliot to acknowledge that this isn’t just about him, that Parker and Hardison need to know he’s alright. He nods and reaches a hand out for Hardison, clasping hands and leaning into Hardison so he can pull himself into a standing position. He feels shaky and he worries his legs won’t hold him, but Hardison pulls him close and together they wobble out into the hallway towards the bathroom.

Hardison sits him down on the closed toilet seat before he goes back to shut the bathroom door. Eliot sees Parker coming out of the other bedroom, and Eliot realises belated that the two of them must have been taking turns keeping an eye on him and keeping his fever down.

He hears Hardison asking Parker to change the sheets on Eliot’s bed and he wants to protest, because he doesn’t want her cleaning up after him, but Hardison’s words come back to him and he stays quiet.

‘I’m sorry, man.’ Eliot says into the inside of his sweaty t-shirt as Hardison is trying to fight to thread it over his head and damaged arm.

‘What for?’ Hardison asks once he’s succeeded in wrestling the t-shirt from Eliot and dropped it on the floor. Eliot had hoped that Hardison wouldn’t ask that question, because he doesn’t want to list all the things he feels he needs to apologise for right now. Eliot chooses not to answer, staying quiet and pretending he’s focusing as Hardison pulls him to his feet and helps him out of the sweatpants.

‘If you’re apologising for getting shot protecting us, then you’re more of an idiot than I thought, and I know for a fact you’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for,’ Hardison says, helping Eliot to sit back on the toilet seat before he moves to turn the shower on.

‘If you’re apologising for the fact that Parker and I have had to look after you, then I’ve made my feelings on that damn well apparent. And if you’re apologising for being your usual grumpy Eliot self, then, man, I wouldn’t want you any other way, a’right?’

Eliot feels exposed, and not just because he’s sat on the toilet seat in nothing but his underpants. Instead of saying anything else he just nods in acknowledgement before allowing Hardison to help him to his feet again and into the shower.

He insists on joining Parker and Hardison on the couch when he’s done showering and his bandages have been changed. Parker has just come back from a food run almost weighed down under the weight of food she bought from the deli on the corner.

‘There’s a flight back to Portland tonight at eight.’ Hardison looks up from his laptop, glancing across at Eliot on the other end of the sofa where he’s making his way through the second bagel that Parker picked up from the deli down the street. ‘You up for it?’

‘Yeah, man. Never thought I’d say this, but I’m looking forward to getting back to Portland.’

‘Preach.’ Hardison says, taping away at his keyboard. ‘Booked. Three seats with extra legroom.’

Eliot smiles. He’s looking forward to going back to his own apartment, sleeping in his own bed and taking a few days to himself to finish recovering. He feels like he’s not getting rid of Parker and Hardison that easily, though.

He wants to say thank you, but it seems inadequate considering how much they’ve done for him the last few days. Also, he’s pretty sure that if he tried to pour his heart out to them with words he’d get muddled somewhere and then the message would get lost when he got angry with himself. In a couple of days when they’re back in Portland and Eliot can stand for longer than 10 minutes without wanting to sit down he’ll cook them some dinner in the brewpub kitchen that’s off menu and he hopes that’ll go some way to expressing his feelings.

‘You want me to steal you some crutches for the way home?’ Parker asks from where she’s sat on the kitchen counter eating what must be at least her third bagel.

Eliot gives a huff of a laugh as he considers this for a moment. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘You sure, man? Airport’s big.’

He tries to keep his face straight as he says it. ‘Don’t need crutches, got two human ones.’

Hardison laughs and shakes his head before going back to his laptop. Parker just plonks herself down on the couch next to him, poking him in the arm in a mock attempt at annoyance. Even though it came out as a joke, Eliot means it.


End file.
